Breath of Life
by EliadetheAkuma
Summary: Itarildë is a servant of Bard the Bowman's. While she may serve him, she does so by choice. She cares for his children and him. She's been with him for about three years when the Dwarfs arrive, but let us start at the beginning...the very beginning when she needed a breath of life...when she was searching for one...Bard/OC
1. Saved

_Lake-town had gotten bigger since the terrible Smaug had taken the Lonely Mountain and destroyed Dale. Any survivors of the attack had mostly fled to the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains, making a life for them there. However, some of them had come to Lake-town and made it larger. Lake-town was still pretty small, regardless. _

_Bard rowed closer to the town, easily manipulating the oar to go towards his home. His boat pushed aside floating pieces of ice, forcing them to move for the medium-sized sea craft. He was approaching the large gate to get into Lake-town and he was hoping that Alfrid was busy with helping the Master. He had seen a very nice dress that was about Sigrid's size and wanted to buy it for her before someone else did. He had been saving money up for months to buy her a new dress and he had seen it on his way out of Lake-town. _

_He greeted Percy at the gate, who quickly came out of the shack-like building to check his boat._

"'_Ello, Bard." Percy greeted him with an old smile and flash of his teeth._

"_Hello, Percy. Good afternoon."_

"_Yes it is."_

_Percy looked down at the paper he had._

"_Okay, empty barrels from Mirkwood, right? You're clear. You planning on buying that dress for Sigrid?"_

_Bard smiled back._

"_Yeah; I hope it fits and, of course, she likes it."_

"_Well, I wish you luck, Bard. Perhaps if it doesn't fit, or she doesn't like it, you can take it back for a refund."_

_Bard chuckled. "I hope."_

"_Good day, Bard." _

_Percy re-entered the shack and opened the gate himself, waving at Bard as he entered the gate and then closed it afterward. He continued sailing in until he banked finally at his home. Instead of informing his most likely still-sleeping children of his arrival at home, he chose to simply grab his bag of coins and heading into the merchant parts of the town. He searched for the apparel stand which had the dress he was looking for._

_Upon finding the stand, he quickly asked the woman if she still had the dress. She bent down behind the stand and withdrew the dress. He smiled at it. It was a heavenly blue with light silver trimming; the sleeves were just past elbow-length and the collar was decorated in small, silver gems. He grinned and withdrew his coin pouch. As he was about to pay for it, he heard a strange yell and then a half-whimper, half-grunt as well as a crowd gasping. He turned in the direction he heard it from and saw the Master's house with a crowd of people in front of it. A man turned away from the crowd, shaking his head. As he was about to pass him, he grabbed hold of the man's arm._

"_What is going on over there?"_

"_I'll you what!" The man was obviously annoyed. "That idiot of a master damaging damn good goods!"  
_

"_What do you mean by 'goods'?" Bard asked, raising his eyebrow._

"_A servant." The man responded as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "What else?"_

_The man began to rant but Bard ignored him, instead focusing on what he could see through the spaces between the crowd's legs. Lying on the stone, he could see a pair of fragile, dirty hands tied firmly (seemingly painfully) together by a thick rope. For some reason, he found himself quickly walking towards the crowd and shoving through the people. _

_The first line of sight he had was rather terrible, but he could see a frizzy mop of brown, a curled up body wrapped in the rags known to Lake-town and a pair of boots made out of said rags, which were falling apart. The next line of sight he had granted him better vision and was his undoing. When he finally pushed to the front of the crowd, he got to see the person in full. A mop of rather unkempt brown hair, obviously not taken care of, was atop the person's head. Eyes, piercing and a frail dark brown, looked around at the crowd. Full, cracked lips of pink were directed downwards in a frown with a hint of blood on the very edge of them, with a small cut on the inside of the bottom lip. He noticed white, but oddly small teeth. He quickly drank in the look of fear and uncertainty on __her __face. _

_Yes, it was a female. Bard could tell now it was a female. Her knees were drawn in towards her chest as she was being auctioned off to the crowd, the Master of Lake-town looking down upon her, angry and rather hateful. Her fingers curled into themselves as she looked around, scared out of her mind. The moment their eyes locked, her mouth opened some and her fingers twitched. Something changed in her eyes; a pleading took up her brown abysses and Bard swallowed thickly at the plea within them. _

_**She was begging him to buy her.**_

_Bard swallowed again. He glanced around at the crowd. From what he could tell, there was no one who would treat her well in the crowd, well anyone who could __afford__ her. There was Mordane in the crowd, a rather frail old woman who was actually quite kind, but she had just paid a medical bill for her dying husband. There was no possible way she could afford the girl. _

"_100 silver coins?" Alfrid asked aloud, seemingly not noticing that Bard was there. Bard glanced back at the merchant. He swallowed __again_.

"_100 silver coins!" Bard yelled. Everyone quickly fell silent and Alfrid slowly turned. Bard kept his hand raised and his eyes set firmly on her. She seemed surprised that he had actually bid on her, but she didn't complain._

_Alfrid, nonetheless, continued his bidding._

"_150 silver coins?"_

_He turned 'round, checking for hands. No hands other than Bard's was in the air and no one else was making bids. _

_He scowled._

"_3…"_

_He glanced around some more._

"_2…"_

_More glancing._

"_1. And sold to Bard the Bowman!"_

_Alfrid turned towards the girl and scoffed, muttering under his breath._

"_He can have the bitch."_

_Bard watched as he grabbed the girl by the rope around her hands and dragged her over to Bard, throwing her at him once he was within a few feet. She fell to her knees at his feet, her hands tied and her delicate fingers lying on the ground. She kept her head down, obviously not sure what to do. Alfrid strode over and gave a rather cruel kick to her side._

"_Here she is, in all her worthlessness. She'd not even worth 100 silver."_

"_You're not even worth 100 silver, Alfrid." Bard responded._

_Alfrid scowled but turned to the Master and the both of them went into the large home. Bard glared at them all the way. Once they were in the house, Bard bent down and gently grabbed the girl's hands and carefully lifted her to a sitting position where she could be comfortable. He placed his knee beside hers as he began untying the rope. She seemed to just stare at him – he hardly noticed – as he untied the rope, still in shock at the fact that he bought her. After untying the ropes, he gently touched the bruises left behind. He gently rubbed them, looking back into her eyes, which were surprisingly soft, reminding him of melted chocolate._

_He carefully placed his arms under her knees and lifted, surprising her._

"_I-I can walk on my own, m-master…" She trailed off, unsure if she should have called him master._

"_Nonsense. You sprained your ankle when Alfrid hit you." _

"_Huh?" She looked at her ankle and when she adjusted it, sure enough, pain spread through her. _

"_And uh, don't call me master. It's not required. My name is Bard."_

"_Yeah I know. Bard the Bowman. The whole town talks about you. They call you a saint."_

_He guffawed._

"_Well I am not saint, but I am kindly to others."_

_He gently opened the door upon reaching his home. He carried her to the far back room, which was his, and laid her upon the furs of the bed. _

"_Rest your ankle for now, you can take a bath a little later; be sure to wash your hair. I will go find you some more suitable boots of Sigrid's. Wait here."_

_Bard left the room in search of the boots Sigrid used to wear, leaving her alone on the bed. When he returned, she had passed out on the bed, her hands curled over her chest, holding her dress. Sighing for a moment, he glanced around the room for a blanket. Spotting a small throw blanket made of the cloth everyone in Lake-town wore; he grabbed it and gently placed it over her._

_She didn't need to get to work right away; she had probably been working all day after all._


	2. Names

"_She's kind-of weird-looking, Sigrid."_

"_Bain! Don't be so rude!"_

"_It's not like she can hear us."_

"_Why is she laying in Da's bed?"_

"_I don't know." Sigrid responded. "She's even covered in Da's blanket."_

_Slowly, her eyes slid open, sleepy brown eyes locking with three curious ones. Said brown eyes quickly went wide with shock and she shot up, pressing her hand into the mattress. Or so she thought. She quickly fell off the bed, finding herself face-down on the wooden floor. She slowly pushed herself up, gently grabbing the furs atop the bed and pulling herself up. _

_The three curious children had vanished._

_She glanced around the room for them, but didn't see them. She stood slowly, using one of the bedposts as a way of getting up. Upon standing, she exited the room, trying to find her way through the home. As she walked down the hallway, she entered the kitchen. _

_It was fairly sized but rather dirty. Dishes had been started, however, with the sink filled with soap and bubbles to the rim. A load was in the water, presumably soaking. The counters were covered in an awful lot of pieces of fur and pieces of fat off fish. The cabinet doors needed significant cleaning, splattered with a substance she didn't know. _

_The kitchen immediately went into what seemed to be a mix of a living room and the children's rooms. It had two beds, perfectly made and clean with a single chair by the coat-rack, which was located beside the door. Turning slowly, she noticed a staircase with brooms and such located along its walls on racks. Slowly, she crept towards the staircase but immediately stopped when she got a flash of a memory she wished to forget. She quickly turned, gasping as she once again found herself face-to-face with her observers. She would have fallen right back and tripped down the staircase, but she managed to calm herself._

"_H-hello." She greeted._

"_Hello." All three said in unison, not backing away from her an inch._

"_Pardon me, but who are you?" __Itharildë_ asked, incredibly curious.

"_Well," The eldest-looking girl pushed back her other two companions and took a step back herself. "I am Sigrid. These are my siblings, Bain and Tilda."_

"_Your father's Bard, right?" _

"_Yes. Who are you?" Tilda, the youngest asked curiously._

"_Um…I'm your new servant. Call me Itha."_

"_Okay, __Itha__, when did my father get you? He doesn't take servants, after all." Bain added._

"_What is today?"_

"_Um…March 4__th__." The boy, Bain responded._

"_Yesterday. Your father got me yesterday."_

"_Interesting."_

"_I guess so." She shrugged. "Anyway, I must set to work."_

_She turned from the children and entered the kitchen, setting to work immediately. _

_Bard opened the door to his front door, heaving the door open and turning and closing the door, not having a chance to see his home. However, when he turned around, his mouth instantly opened in surprise. Just in the room he was standing in, there was a great improvement. The floor was picked up and had been mopped, the things on the shelves had been organized and placed so that they didn't appear cluttered. His children's beds had obviously been remade, since Bain's little un-tuck of his sheet towards his pillow was actually tucked._

_He then turned to the kitchen and his mouth opened wider._

_The dishes were all done and seemed to have been put away as well. The cabinet doors had been cleaned and were now spotless, even somewhat shiny. The counters had been cleared off, wiped clean and then waxed, as they had a spotless shine to them as well. The trash had been taken out as well, as the bag was new and empty. The staircase leading down to the bathroom and back dock had been scrubbed – but not waxed clearly, even though the railing had been – and the mops and brooms had been rearranged differently. _

_Wrinkling his face in confusion, he began to head back to his room. Upon reaching the door, he heard soft humming and paused instantly. He turned towards his bathroom, noticing the door was open. His eyes slowly fell to the floor, where a dress was pooled. He drew closer, incredibly curious for some odd reason. When he got closer, he could see that there was a boot lying on its side shortly after the dress and then the other boot. When he rounded the corner to enter the doorway of the bathroom, he paused again._

_There, lying in his bath was the female servant he had bought earlier that day. Her brown hair was fairly dry and tied up with a silver clip, a few longer hairs coming out of the clip and clinging to her neck. She was facing opposite him, her fingers holding the edges of the tub as she lay in it. Water filled the tub only halfway and there were no bubbles whatsoever, causing Bard to see the skin of her leg. He immediately looked away, making a noise at having been staring at his female servant. Upon hearing him, she turned around, which only made it worse. He held his hands up beside his face, preventing him from seeing anything._

"_Please, cover yourself." _

_She seemed surprised, but nonetheless, she responded. "Y-yes sir."_

_He felt his face burn even worse when he heard her get out of the bath and grab a towel, wrapping herself in it quickly._

"_I am covered, sir, promise."_

_He put his hand down and looked back to her, but still remained redder than a cherry._

"_Did you rearrange the mop and brooms and remake the beds?"_

"_Um...yes, sir…I did." Her face turned to horror. "Was I not supposed to do that? I am very sorry, sir, I can change it back! I can!"_

_He raised his hand and watched as she flinched. Staring at her for a moment, he watched as she slowly came back from her flinch and relaxed._

"_I'm not going to hit you." He responded quietly, speaking gently. "I will never intentionally hurt you."_

_She nodded her head slowly._

"_And what you did was absolutely stunning, uh..." He paused, realizing something._

"_What is your name?" He requested._

_She peered up at him, again surprised._

"_Itharildë, sir."_

"_Itharildë? That's a very unique name."_

"_Thank you, sir."_

"_Don't call me sir. My __name__ is Bard."_

"_Yes, sir…err Bard."_

"_There you go." _

_He gave her a smile._


	3. Cry

**_A/N: Hello, everyone! I am happy to announce the new chapter for this story which has taken me a little while to write. The next chapter may take a bit longer, since I have contracted the flu and am still recovering from it (I have had it for two days) and school is starting this Monday and I am behind in my schoolwork. However, I will try to write on this story and my others when I can. For now, devour this chapter and please review!_**

_Itharildë had been with them for about a year now. She had become a part of the family, in a way. She taught Sigrid how to iron and how to sew, told stories of old and new to Tilda and taught Bain how to care for swords; how she knew the latter was beyond Bard's comprehension. She slept on a cot that Bard had set up beside the children's beds against the far wall, which she took down during the day and set back up in the evening. _

_In the year she had been with the family, Bard had encouraged her to do many things. Within a couple weeks of her staying with them, he had requested she maintain better care of her hair, even going as far as to buy her soap. He had also bought her a hair clip, which he technically had to buy since Bain complained about the brown hair that kept ending up in his food. _

_She had also begun to become more and more comfortable with Bard and his little family. She had begun telling tales of her homeland, although Bard couldn't quite pin where she was from. They were fairly old tales – her grandmother had told them to her – and Tilda became excited every time the tales were even mentioned. _

_It was ten in the evening and his children were settled in bed. Bard was doing his usual nightly routine, checking the windows and locking the doors when he heard Tilda giggling. He turned from the back door and glanced up the stairs, curiosity overwhelming him. He slowly and quietly crept up the stairs, only getting close enough to hear the tale that Itharildë was telling._

"_So, in the little town I told you about, there was once a kind maiden. She, was the daughter of merchants and lived to make pretty trinkets that beautiful young girls like you would go looking for in order to impress a prince."_

_Tilda giggled again and by the rise in Itharildë's voice, he assumed she had tickled Tilda._

"_A prince? But aren't those all gone?"_

"_No one knows. There are many kinds of princes, Tilda and there's one out there searching for you as there is one out there searching for me. Anyway, one day, the maiden was introduced to a young man who sold potions out of his father's stall."_

"_Was he your prince?"_

_Itharildë fell silent for a moment._

"_No, he was not."_

"_Oh…"_

"_This young man," Itharildë's voice was softer now. "fell so in love with the fair maiden that he gave her a potion that would make her fall in love with him."_

"_A love potion?" Tilda asked excitedly._

"_Yes, but in his excitement, the man did not notice the labels on the vials and had actually given her a deforming potion."_

"_A…deforming potion?" Tilda asked curiously._

"_Yes. It's a potion that causes terrible scars to the person who drinks it."_

"_Oh…what happened to the maiden?"_

"_After drinking it, she got scars, terrible and deep scars, that covered her entire back. Her parents found themselves unable to look at her and sold her to the slave market, never to see her again."_

_Tilda gasped._

"_There's no happy ending, is there?"_

"_Tilda, even in stories such as these, there's always the __possibility__ of a happy ending. That doesn't mean there is going to be one, but you can change it and make it that way. Happy endings are made, not assigned. Everyone has the chance for a happy ending."_

_Tilda nodded a smile on her face._

"_Okay, so what did we learn?" _

"_Never to drink a potion from a merchant's son?" Tilda asked before bursting into soft laughter._

_Itharildë smiled._

"_There's always the chance for a happy ending." They both said in unison._

"_Right." Itharildë gently lifted Tilda's head and kissed her forehead._

"_Good night, Tilda."_

"_Night, Itha."_

_Bard finished climbing the stairs, finding that she had gone back to cleaning the kitchen. He glanced at Tilda, who was already passed out in her bed before looking back to the young girl who was now scrubbing the counter he had cut the rabbit on earlier that day._

"_Where are you from?"_

_She jumped and turned around, slamming her hand into the counter and a startled look on her face._

"_Sir! I mean, Bard!"_

"_Where are you from?"_

_She relaxed and a softness crawled into her eyes._

"_Dale, sir…Dale."_

_He narrowed his eyes._

"_What do you know of the dragon?"_

"_I know that his roar is terrifying and his fire is the hottest ever known. His entire body can knock over many buildings and he can bring about death with just his tail."_

"_And how do you know these things?" He stepped closer to her._

"_I have seen it all with my own eye. I watched him as he brought Dale to ashes and ruins. I watched as he murdered everyone I had ever known. I was lucky to have survived, even though it doesn't feel like I am."_

_He watched as her eyes welled with tears and she let go of the counter, dropping down to the floor, trying to keep her cry silent. Bard gently took her in his arms as he sat down beside her and gently pressed her face into his chest, glancing only once at Tilda who was still asleep. _

"_I remember when Dale was brought down to the ground and everyone I loved was killed by that dragon and…evil triumphed…"_


	4. Reminded

_**A/N: So all of my previous chapters have been in the past (as you can tell by the italics). However, I think it is time I write for "The Desolation of Smaug" now. Please understand that once I finish writing for DoS, this story will be on hiatus until There and Back Again comes out because I have nothing to go by till then since the two movies are so closely linked. Please understand and when I finish writing for Dos, wait for There and Back Again to come out for this story! There were probably be a few more chapters after this one before it's put on hiatus AND I will be writing drabbles and one shots after this so check them out too! If you want, you can request one shots or drabbles for this story and I will do them. I always need ideas!**_

Bard blinked his eyes clear, snapping out of his trip down memory lane. Arriving in Lake-town with the dwarves just as he had arrived that fateful morning had reminded him of that day; of meeting her. He smiled to himself, something which the oldest-looking dwarf, Balin took notice of.

"Pardon me for asking, but is there someone you are thinking about?" He asked.

"Hm?" Bard asked, glancing at him as he steered his boat to the main gate.

"You just smiled. I was simply curious if you were thinking of someone."

Bard chuckled. "Aye."

"Is this someone a lovely lady?" Balin asked, curiosity continuing.

"Well, she doesn't hold the title of _lady_ but aye, she is lovely."

"Is she close to you?"

"Aye." Bard responded.

He didn't mind the questions; it made him smile to think about her. She was rather beautiful; even he had to admit it. Her smile was very brightening, capable of making any hard day lighter. She was always so kind and gentle, even though she had a bit of a temper on her and was sensitive when it came to her cooking.

Bard kicked the barrel where the noisy dwarf was – he wasn't sure which one was in there – and shushed them.

"Quiet; we're approaching the large gate." He responded, steering his boat towards the gate. He knew Percy would be there and he hoped that his entry would be normal and easy, avoiding any problems.

"Halt! Goods inspection!" Percy yelled from the shack, grabbing his lantern and exiting as Bard banked the seacraft for Percy to inspect it. "Papers please!"

"Oh, it's you, Bard!" Percy sounded glad and surprised.

"Morning, Percy." Bard greeted.

"Anything to declare?"

Bard stepped off the craft, removing a slip. "Nothing. That I am cold, tired and ready for home."

He passed the slip to Percy, who grabbed it and responded. "You and me both."

Percy stepped into the shack, speaking loudly to be heard.

"How is Itharildë? Has she overcome her cold?"

"Aye; that she has. She is feeling much better. She says thanks for the blanket, by the way."

"Oh, I'm glad it helped, as is the misses. She was very happy to make it for Itharildë. After all, she's been supplying us with food when we need it."

"Rabbit?" Bard asked, chuckling to himself.

"Aye." Percy exited the shack, with a stamp on Bard's papers. "There we are; all in order."

As Percy went to give the paper to Bard, however, a certain hated male grabbed the paper from his hands.

"Not…so…fast." It was Alfrid.

"Consignment of empty barrels from…" Alfrid looked up. "The woodland realm. Only they're not empty…are they, Bard?"

He threw the paper, letting it fly in the wind.

"If I recall correctly, you're licensed as a bargemen, not…a fisherman." He stepped towards Bard intimidatingly, grabbing one of the fish from the barrels.

"That's none of your business." Bard responded.

Alfrid stepped closer.

"How is the bitch?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not that I care, of course."

"Again, that's none of your business." Bard said lowly.

"I have to say that you have made her look so much more…enticing. I cannot deny-"

"Do not speak of her in such a way." Bard seethed. "Do not even **think** of her in that way. You have no right to say or think such things."

"Oh and you do?"

"I have never." Bard responded, feeling prideful of his morality.

Alfrid stepped away, returning to their previous conversation. "No, it is the master's business which makes it my business."

"Ah, come on, Alfrid, have a heart! People need to eat!"

Alfrid walked over to the side of the pier and threw the fish back in.

"These fish are illegal." He responded as he did so.

"Empty the barrels over the side." Alfrid commanded the guards with him.

"You heard him! In the canal!"

They stepped past Bard and started grabbing the barrels.

"the people in town are struggling!" Bard quickly set to preventing them from doing so. "Times are hard; food is scarce."

"That's not my problem." Alfrid responded carelessly.

"And when the people hear the master is dumping fish back in the lake? When the rioting starts?"

The soldiers began to dump.

"Will it be your problem then?"

Alfrid gave a look of defeat, much like the one that had been on his face when he had been forced to give up Itharildë.

"STOP!" He commanded, looking coy and annoyed. The guards set the two barrels back.

"…Being the people's champion, Bard, protector of the common folk. You might have their favor now, bargeman, but it won't last." Alfrid responded before walking away.

Percy gave him a glance.

"Raise the gate!" Percy yelled. The gate instantly began to raise and Bard stepped back onto the boat.

"Tell Itharildë the misses wants to see her soon! Misses her I guess!"

"Will do!" Bard yelled back as he guided the boat into the opening.

"The master has his eye on you! You do well to remember!" Alfrid proclaimed, pausing a moment in his walking and turning to face Bard. "We know where you live!"

"It's a small town, Alfrid, everyone knows where everyone lives." Bard responded, being rather obnoxious with his tone.

Upon banking where he usually did in Lake-town, he shoved the barrel with one of the dwarves, letting the fish out and allowing the dwarf inside to breathe. He shoved another over and went to shove another but the angry dwarf emerged.

"Keep your hands off me!" he commanded.

Bard raised his hands defensively before allowing the others to help themselves out. He noticed that one of the older men of the town was watching with wide eyes. He gave him a silver coin.

"You didn't see them. They were never here."

He passed the long line of dwarves beside the building.

"Follow me."

He weaved through the buildings leading to his home, occasionally having to go underneath buildings.

Bain rushed out from underneath one of the other buildings.

"Da! Our house…it's being watched."

Bain and Bard emerged from the alleyway alone and found their way to the home quickly. Bain entered and as Bard was about to as well, he paused and turned 'round. He whistled at the men below, causing him to look up. He threw a peach, which the man caught.

"You can tell the master I am done for the day."

He then entered, instantly greeted by Tilda, who was making her bed.

"Da!" She exclaimed happily. "Where have you been?"

She hugged him tightly and he gently held her head in response.

"There you are, Da!" Sigrid came from downstairs, a smile on her face at seeing him home. "I was worried!"

She embraced him and Bard returned it.

"Here." He passed her the brown satchel he was carrying, glancing out the window.

"Bain, get them in."

Bain rushed downstairs to let the dwarves in as Itharildë came from the kitchen, drying her hands with a cloth.

"Bard." She smiled.

He turned and was instantly brought into a warm, tight hug.

"I'm glad you're back!" He rubbed her back gently as she hugged him before she released at hearing loud noises coming from downstairs. She wrinkled her brows and gave a look of confusion. Fear crawled onto her face as the large, tattooed dwarf emerged first.

"Bard?" She questioned, taking a step back and into the door.

"Da? Why are there dwarves crawling out of our toilet?" Sigrid asked.

"Will they bring us luck?" Tilda asked.

"Aye. Lots of it." Itharildë responded, trying to lighten the mood. Unfortunately, Dwalin glared at her.

"You're not funny, you stupid servant!" Dwalin harshly scolded her.

"Do not be so quick to insult her. She may be a slave but she serves us freely. I bought her off the Master, because he was treating her badly. She's been through a lot."

Dwalin quickly shut up at Bard's words.

Nori put his clothes by the fire and Tilda was passing out clothes as Itharildë was cooking dinner in the kitchen, glancing behind her often. Dwalin caught every one of her looks.

"They might not be the best fit, but they'll keep you warm."

"Why does this _girl_ keep glaring at me? I can feel it!" Dwalin complained.

"She is wary of you." Bard responded, chancing a glance at Itharildë. She did look somewhat scared. She did keep glancing behind her and she was fumbling with everything she picked up.

Dwalin made a face.

"That's reasonable, is it not? You were wary of me when you first met me, eh?"

"You gave us a reason-"

"You came into her home through the toilet," Dwalin scowled at the very mention of his entry. "And requested weapons. You do not believe she has reason to be wary of you?"

Dwalin, yet again, quieted.

Itharildë resumed cooking, zoning out on cooking the Rabbit just right. She glanced at the teapot and sighed heavily, walking over to it. It needed refilling, after giving all the dwarves hot chocolate, it was empty. She turned the sink on and it was then she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped and looked up at Bard, relaxing at finding that it was him.

"God, Bard, don't scare me like that." She responded, looking back to the sink as she filled the teapot.

"Do not be afraid of them; they won't hurt any of us."

His hand slid off her shoulder as she turned to put the teapot on the stove.

"I understand, sir." She responded.

"Remember," He reminded. "It's Bard."

"Yes, yes, of course."

She heard talk of the day Smaug had come as she removed the kettle from the stove after a few minutes. Walking towards the table, she listened as Bain quickly entered the conversation, speaking quite loudly.

"Then you would know Gideon hit the dragon! He loosened a scale under the left wing! One more shot and he would have killed the beast!"

"That's a folk story, lad, nothing more." Dwalin responded.

She felt her fingers begin to tremble at the very thought of the dragon, particularly its fire in the sky. She flinched as flashes of her dead family flashed through her mind and she gasped loudly as the kettle fell from her hands.

"Damn it!" She cursed as the kettle hit the floor and splashed steaming hot water back up at her. Her fingers and dress were covered in it. She cursed loudly at feeling the burn of the water. She dropped to her knees, apologizing and quickly beginning to clean up the mess, using the rag that had been in her pocket. However, the dwarves continued as though nothing had happened.

"You took our money." The one who seemed to be the leader of the group reminded. "Where are the weapons?"

"Wait here." Bard responded, heading downstairs.

Itharildë quickly grabbed the kettle and returned to the sink, turning it on and yet again refilling the kettle. She quickly removed the rabbit from the stove and turned it off, placing the pan on a hot pad on the counter. She opened the spice cupboard as Bard emerged from the downstairs, carrying a large _something_ with him. She paid no mind, reminding herself that she was a slave and she did have a job to do.

She still listened, however, as Bard put the heavy thing he was carrying down on the table, again very loud.

And it seemed the weapons weren't to satisfaction. At. All.

Bard began wrapping the weapons again and she turned, leaning against the counter to watch.

"You're not going anywhere!" Bard quickly prevented them from leaving, obviously for the City Armory.

"What did you say?!" Dwalin demanded.

"There is guards watching this house and probably every dock and home in the town. You must wait 'till nightfall."

Itharildë glanced back at the one rabbit she had cooked up for dinner. Normally, it'd be enough but there were fourteen dwarves present. And dwarves were well-known for their appetite. She glanced at the fridge, where there were about five rabbits. She had been storing them; stocking up on the food while she could. She frowned and sighed, walking over to the fridge and opening it, pulling out the five rabbits and setting about, grabbing the pans she would need.

"This is great!" Bombur announced loudly with a full mouth of food.

"This is very good, lass." Bofur complimented as well, taking a bite of the portion of the rabbits he had been dished.

"I know this taste." Balin responded before taking another bite, a calculating expression on his face.

"This…" He responded, finishing the new bite. "Is from Dale! I have had this food before! This is cooking from Dale."

The dwarves all looked to Itharildë, who awkwardly shifted beside Bard, shying away from their looks.

Bard swallowed his mouth-full, reluctant to speak for a moment.

"She comes from Dale, yes." Bard responded.

"You were there then…" Balin inquired.

"When my beloved home burned to the ground, yes."

She swallowed thickly.

"Excuse me."

She shoved the chair back, grabbing her plate and quickly exiting, putting it in the sink and heading to the far back room, which was Bard's. Bard sighed deeply, assuming that she was going to go take a bath. It was her way of calming down and boy, did she need calming down.


	5. Just a Kiss Goodnight

Itharildë curled up underneath the warm blanket, blinking her eyes at the old, weathered cover of her book. She glanced over at the beds beside her, filled with sleeping children. Tilda was delicately curled around her brown teddy bear, Charlie. Sigrid was next to her, sleeping flat on her back with her hair messy from her tossing and turning. Bain was the farthest away from her and was lying with one of his legs off the bed, his blanket and sheet on the floor.

Seeing this, Itharildë set her book down towards the end of her cot and crawled out of bed, fixing her dress quickly before walking over to Bain's bed, careful to avoid the center of the floor which creaked badly at night. She gently grabbed his leg and lifted it back onto the bed, as well as grabbing his arm which had fallen off when she had gotten out of bed. She then walked to the opposite side and grabbed the sheet, throwing it up in the air above Bain and letting it float down upon him. She fixed the sheet, gently tucking it underneath his mattress up until his waist and then leaned down, grabbing his blanket.

She ran her fingers along the patch that she had sewn onto it after Bain and Tilda had torn it while fighting over it. She smiled to herself before throwing it up in the air as well and allowing it to fall upon him. She then proceeded to tuck him in for the third time that night, knowing of the harsh cold that Laketown experienced at night. She set down on the edge of the bed, smiling down at Bain.

She slowly leaned down and laid a gentle kiss upon his forehead before getting up and returning to her cot. She crawled back into the warmth of her own bedding and grabbed the weather book again. She ran her fingers over the lettering of the title and then slid it down to the author's name at the bottom. She smiled as she glided her fingertips along the name, Arthur Dimplestein.

It was her father's pseudonym when he wrote in his journal, which actually was a recount of his life in Dale as a merchant and his own life. He wanted to give it to his grandchildren, hoping to show them what "life was really about". She had been reading it, hoping to remember a shard of who she used to be; of how happy she was. But when she read, it only reminded of her of what she had lost and what she would never have again.

She swallowed, trying to clear her throat of that feeling that made her want to cry. Every time she did this, she felt weak and ridiculous. The attack on Dale had been so long ago; she should have just gotten over it by now, but she just…she couldn't. Every part of her demanded she remember what happened, remember why she was there with Bard and his family in Lake-town. Perhaps she felt as though she couldn't forget because forgetting that day would mean that she would forget herself, forget her family.

She swallowed again and looked to her side, searching for something to help her stop crying. Tilda squeezed her teddy bear tightly, a frightened look on her sleeping face. Itharildë got out of bed and made her way towards Tilda's bed. As she was about to tuck her in tighter, Tilda shot up, eyes wide and slammed herself right into Itharildë arms.

Tilda writhed in her arms for a few moments, crying and softly sobbing, but she gradually relaxed into Itharildë, calming down. Tilda grasped tightly at the brown nightgown, panting and still quietly sobbing.

"Shh, Tilda. It's okay, it's alright."

She rocked her body back and forth gently as she held the frightened girl, stroking her hair and kissing her head.

"Shh, it's alright, Tilda."

Tilda's sobbing faded off and when Itharildë went to pull her away from her chest and talk to her, she realized the little girl had passed out in her arms. She chuckled softly and slowly laid her back down, but as she went to pull away, Tilda's arms wouldn't let go. She tried to grab the little girl's hands and remove them from the back of her neck, but failed desperately.

She sighed heavily and glanced to the side, noticing Charlie was on the floor from when Tilda had sat up so quickly. She extended her hand and attempted to grab the teddy bear. Her fingertips brushed the hair of the bear but she couldn't grab it. Silently cursing, she tried to stretch again but stopped when another hand grabbed the teddy bear. She watched as the teddy bear was lifted to a chest and her eyes widened.

"I thought you..."

"I was but I heard Tilda." Bard responded, half-smiling at the situation she was in. He stepped toward the nightstand and bent, putting Charlie between the two. He then stood and placed himself behind Itharildë, making her blush awkwardly at the position. He then leaned forward, grabbing Tilda's little hands and gently tugging on them and removing them from her neck and then placing them around Charlie.

Tilda relaxed and Itharildë breathed a sigh of relief. She turned to Bard.

"Thanks. I'm sorry for waking you."

He smiled.

"It's not your fault. I'm glad you were here when she had a nightmare."

"I'm glad to be here for the nightmares." She chuckled. She gave Bard a smile, but this smile faded as she noticed the look within his eyes.

"What is it, Bard?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"It…it's the dwarves."

"What of them?"

"Their leader…is the King of the Silver Fountain."

"The King of the Silver Fountain? As in Thorin ll Oakenshield of Erebor?"

"Yes." He nodded. "I heard one of them refer to him as Thorin and I looked at the tapestry of the line of Durin."

"I see. And this worries you?"

She sat down upon the cot and Bard followed, his eyes directed downwards. She smiled to herself and reached out a hand, taking the side of his face and turning him towards her. She smiled a little wider as their eyes locked.

"You're worried of seeing dragon fire in the sky. You're worried for Tilda, Sigrid and Bain…"

"Yes." He whispered. "Yes I am but there is someone else I worry about as well."

"Who?" She asked, eyes softening.

"You."

Before she could respond, Bard leaned down and gently captured her lips within his. For a moment, she just stood there with wide eyes before relaxing and gently kissing back. When he finally pulled away, it seemed like forever. He stood from the cot.

"Good night, Itharildë." He said before leaning down and laying a kiss against her forehead.

She watched as he walked away, her heart sounding like a siren in her ears. She touched her lips and smiled to herself before lying down upon the bed, giggling softly. She glanced over at Tilda and quickly covered her mouth, quieting down.


	6. Dreams of Dragon Fire

"They were caught, then?" Itharildë asked Bard as she adjusted the coat around her shoulders, keeping in step with Bard as he lead her through the maze of the spaces underneath the homes of Lake-town.

"Yes." Bard's responses had been short and simple for the past fifteen minutes, since they had first heard the men and women yelling and the fire outside their windows. Itharildë was afraid that Bard was angry with her; for making him take her with. However, the dwarves took top precedence and she chose to leave it be.

Bard grabbed her hand as they reached the crowd and began shoving through almost immediately, pulling her with. He let go of her once they were close to the front of the line and she watched as he stepped forward, giving an immediate answer to Thorin's proclamations.

"Death! Death is what you will bring us! Fire and ruin." He stepped forward. "If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all."

"You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this, if we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the mountain."

Itharildë frowned as the crowd cheered. They didn't understand! They didn't understand how dragon fire felt when it filled the sky above you, burned the house around you, and destroyed all those you had loved! They didn't understand how it felt to watch as your home, the place you had played in with your siblings, the place your mother had taught you to be a good person, burned to the ground and for the culprit of such a thing to keep on living! To have the chance to do the same to another!

She wanted to speak about this dragon fire that she had felt, but she was afraid. Afraid of what they might say; afraid of being hurt by them, of being rejected. So, she kept silent, allowing the crowd to voice their opinions as she watched Bard try to save his town.

"YOU WILL HAVE ENOUGH GOLD TO REBUILD ESGOARTH TEN TIMES OVER!" Thorin spoke loudly; holding his hands out to his sides and making them rise powerfully as cheers rang through the crowd again.

Why didn't they understand?

"All of you listen to me! You must listen! Have you forgotten what happened to Dale?!"

Itharildë looked down immediately.

"Have you forgotten those who died in the fire?! And for what purpose? The blind ambition of a mountain king, driven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!"

Thorin immediately took offense.

"NOW!" The Master of Lake-town spoke up, making Itharildë shiver immediately at the sound. She found herself flashing back immediately, recalling crying as she was abused sexually by the man who so boldly spoke before her.

_The Master finished with her, giving himself one final heave into her before pulling away from her and giving a grunt. She made the move to move herself forward before she collapsed on the floor and curled up on the Master's bed, tears in her eyes as she watched him walk around the bed and start drinking the wine on the dresser. She crossed her arms over her chest and curled her legs up, feeling shameful and dirty._

_The Master was an ugly man, both inside and out. He was fat and beefy, with a mostly bald head and facial hair that hardly belonged on his face. His teeth were mostly rotted and his eyebrows were incredibly overgrown. Just everything about him disgusted her. The way he walked, the way he smiled, the way he treated her. She felt like a common whore, used for what he wanted and used when he wanted her._

"_Get out." He commanded, finishing his third glass of wine. She breathed deeply and shifted from the bed, grabbing her dress and hairband, which was sitting on his bedside table. She pulled the simple, patchy brown dress on and began her way out, putting her hairband around her wrist and grabbing her hair before putting it in a messy "half-ponytail". She passed Alfrid, who was on his way to his master, not even bothering to say hello to the other despised man. She didn't know where she was to go, but she wanted to leave the Master's house. She grabbed the knob and heaved it open, stepping out and slamming the door shut._

"Let us not be eager to lay blame!" The Master of Lake-town continued. "Let us not forget it was GIDEON, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast! Hm?!"

Itharildë's fist clenched and she bit her lip. Smaug was the one to blame here! Not Gideon! Not Thorin! Not Thror or Thrain!

"It's true, sire, we all know the story." Alfrid began laying into Bard as well. "Arrow after arrow he shot, each one missing its mark."

Bard looked away, a somewhat angry look on his face. Itharildë stepped forward, but found herself unable to say anything. Regardless, she stepped forward until she stood by Bard. However, he then stepped forward toward Thorin, looking down on him.

"You have **no right**…**no** right to enter that mountain!" Bard scolded angrily, seething behind his teeth.

"I have the only right." Thorin responded, making Bard seethe even more.

Thorin turned to the Master.

"I speak to the Master of the men of the Lake. Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will _you_ share the _great wealth_ of our people?"

Itharildë looked down.

The master was won over, she knew it. He was motivated only by greed, by avarice for gold and riches that he could drown himself in. There was no hope…Lake-town was to burn down at the hands of Smaug, just as her home had. Only this time, she hoped she wouldn't live to see another day after the one of dragon fire…


	7. The End Begins, Part 1

**_A/N: Alright, I have fixed the typos in this chapter. I am so sorry for all the grammar errors; normally, there wouldn't be so many or only a couple that I missed. It's official: I need to stop writing late at night. Haha lol! Well anyway, I am going to go back to this story's beginnings and fix the typos and such. :D_**

Itharildë watched the ridiculous show they were putting on from the window, listening as loud instruments sounded like it was a happy day. She hardly paid attention as a knock came to their door and Bard opened it. However, the moment she heard 'dwarves' her ears perked up and she stopped leaning on the counter, drying her hands with the cloth as she walked over to the door, standing by Bard.

"Please! No one will help us! Kili is sick!" The one with the hat, Bofur hurriedly begged, moving aside so Kili, leaning on his brother [Fili] and looking like death, could be shown.

Bofur looked back to Bard and Itharildë.

"He's very sick."

Before Bard could say anything, Itharildë spoke.

"Bring him in…" She glanced up at Bard. "I will see what I can do."

* * *

Itharildë slammed the dusty book down onto the counter as loud booms and shaking echoed from the Lonely Mountain. She tried to calm down, hyperventilating as she now knew that Smaug had awoken. She leaned down and blew the dust off the book and once again, ran her fingers over the all-too-familiar name _Arthur Dimplestein_. Kili loudly groaned and moaned, almost to the point of crying because of the pain in his leg. Dust fell from the cracks above the house, making Sigrid, Bain and Tilda all stop and Bard look up.

"Da?" Sigrid asked.

"It's coming from the mountain." Bain confirmed.

Kili continued to groan in bed, making noises only someone in pain could make.

"You should leave us!" The blonde, Fili told Bard, stepping from his brother and walking over to the table. "Take your children, get out of here."

"And go where?" Bard responded. "There is nowhere to go."

Bard looked down, letting his shoulders fall forward.

"_Are we going to die, Da_?" Tilda asked, fear and hope in her eyes at the same time.

"No, darlin'." Bard responded with a smile on his face.

"The dragon…it's going to kill us." Tilda went on.

Bard looked up at the compartment of-sorts above the table and reached into it, grabbing what was hidden within it and removing it. Itharildë stopped immediately, eyes widening.

"That…is a black arrow." She spoke with her Dale accent, something which had been lost to her for some time.

"Not if I kill it first." Bard announced, shaking the arrow slightly.

Itharildë looked back to the book and quickly opened it, flipping through the pages.  
"Healing. Healing. Healing." Itharildë repeated as she browsed through the pages, hoping to find what she needed. Bard walked over to her, causing her to stop immediately.

"I have to kill the dragon." He responded.

"If you want us to live, yes, you do."

She searched his eyes for a sign of fear, but it was buried underneath protectiveness and anger. Thinking this was the last time she would see him, she seized the sides of his face and pulled him down, roughly slamming their lips together. Bard wrapped his arms around her, holding the black arrow away from her.

"Ewww." Sigrid announced as she swore she saw her father's tongue go into Itharildë's mouth.

They broke apart, which left the both of them out of breath. Bard kissed her one last time.

"Good luck, love." He breathed before leaving, Bain following.

* * *

"Da? Is that you, Da?" Sigrid asked, making Itharildë ears perk up immediately. What was Sigrid doing out back on the balcony? Itharildë glanced up immediately, hearing creaking and footsteps on the roof. Then, moments later, Sigrid screamed.  
"SIGRID!"

When Itharildë looked over, Sigrid was holding the door handle, attempting to close the door while a weapon of some sort was in the way of her shutting the door. The front door was burst open and there was an orc there as well. It all happened so quickly. Then another fell from the roof and one came in the window. All Itharildë could do was attempt to process it and move. Sigrid screamed again and some intuition, some gut feeling made her move and run towards Sigrid, grabbing her by her shoulders and yank her away from the orc that was coming in the window. Sigrid slipped from her hands and fell onto the bench beside the table and slipped underneath, still screaming and Fili attacked one of the orcs, shoving Tilda underneath the table as well, but not before Tilda screamed and threw a plate at one of the orcs. Itharildë tried to process, but failed desperately. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins, which only made her unable to concentrate on processing what was going on.

She was scared herself, as anyone would be, and was far too afraid to pick up a knife; throwing it might be an idea but she might hit the children. She felt herself get shoved harshly, wincing as the back of her head fell against one of the chairs and she almost passed out. However, she managed to remain conscious and it was while lying on the floor that she saw her last hope: Bard's bow.

It sat by the door, as it typically did when he was home and it would be a long-shot actually getting to it. She glanced to the orcs, finding that they were being heavily distracted by the dwarves. She pushed herself up, disregarding the pain in her mouth from biting her tongue. She rushed forward and quickly grabbed the bow, but realizing something.

She didn't know where the quiver was.

She glanced around hurriedly, eyes feverishly looking for the quiver. Bard had to keep it around here somewhere. She noticed over the kitchen there was a net, where he had removed the black arrow from. Narrowing her eyes, she quickly rushed back into the dining room and looked up into the hole. Sure enough, there was the brown quiver.

She seized it and quickly grabbed one of the hand-crafted arrows and loaded the bow, not exactly sure what she was doing. She had seen some archery tournaments while serving as the Master's slave so she had a basic idea of how to load it. She aimed at one of the orcs, who was shoving on Sigrid while the blonde dwarf (Fili was it?) tried to kill him. Upon aiming, she quickly released and she felt an excruciating burn in her fingers and palm when she did. Then, while she was looking at her palm, she felt something – she wasn't sure what it was – suddenly hit her head extremely hard and she found herself quickly passing out from said blow.


End file.
